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Names of some identifiable theaters, towns and country music stars have been edited to protect Josh from identifying Google searchs. CAPITALIZED NOUNS indicate my only edits to his posts.
Fans, who wish to track Josh's ongoing travels can read his previous entries here.
On The Road With Josh #5:
The Beginning of The Midwest
Greetings, eh? I'm writing from Duluth, MN, up 'ere close to da range, yah. Actually, no one I have met all day has spoken with a stereotypical Northern accent. I am staying at the TOWN NAME Resort & Water Park. "Duluth" and "resort" and "water park" should not be in the same sentence, unless of course the "park" is contained, terrarium-like indoors. Seriously, with the amount of children in the hotel right now (read: totally full up) the humidity must be doing wonders for the annual pre-pubescent feces count. The building we are staying in is actually across the state route from the main building. We didn't know this when we checked in, and had to truck-it up hill exodus-style with our luggage for .5 miles. The rooms are nice, though, and for the first time in God knows how long we actually have the Bravo channel.
But let us back it up a bit and talk about Huntington, WV. You may want to settle in, there is much to say. So we knew we would be performing in the LOCAL ACTOR CELEBRITY TYPE theatre, an old vaudeville house, which should inspire thoughts of pride and amazement at such a gem of early twentieth century Americana. But then you go there and leave all things good and right and modern behind in the hopes of a really super fast death. There is much to be said for the days of yore, because not everything modern works properly, either. There is much to be said for modernity, however, in this case, and believe me it was screaming in pain when I met the man in charge. Picture if you can the most rickety, old blonde-wood stage floor, with no wings, and a fly system that emitted dust and Lord knows what else every time something was raised or lowered. And standing in the middle of the 15 good-ol' boys making up the peanut gallery of IATSE crew who showed up to sit and eat (notice, I did not say work), was -- in all of his Sweatin'-To-The-Oldies glory, simultaneously coughing up something black, spitting it into a handkerchief, and shaking my hand while exclaiming, "Well, how the hell are ye? Welcome, welcome. Yeah, we know she could use some work, but she runs fahn jest the same. Y'all want some r'freshments? Git on down to the basement." – Bob…..
…..quois?.... Firstly, I have not and will not ever "git" to anywhere, and secondly, quelle ick. The basement, for indeed it was, looked like something out of the movie "Hostel," and bebes I wish I were kidding. All unfinished, crumbling, chafing, sweaty, leaking, dusty concrete floors/walls/ceiling; doors made of iron or painted-over steel or some other indestructible metalloid that looked like cell-block or stable doors with multiple bars and locks; hallways and rooms, some with lights, some without, some with one light bulb hanging down from the ceiling; and my favorite, the most macabre scene of all, the boxes of random mannequin parts off to the side of the orchestra pit (this place brought a league of new images and meanings to the term "orchestra pit.") I walked into the dressing rooms, noted that the toilets had not been flushed, the vanity lighting didn't work, the fluorescent lighting buzzed, and nothing had been cleaned, and turned to the stage manager and asked if we were living in our last days and if I had time to ride my bike one more time before I was sold to deformed lunatics in the deserts of the Western U.S, or to those who live in Appalachia. We went into the "green room," or "slaughter nook" if you prefer, and were greeted by Edna. Edna reigned behind a table of jelly-filled powder doughnuts, Oreos, chips, and 15 boxes of pizzas. And she? She was the kind of woman you could do two things with: A) Prune in the sun while sipping Arbor mist and chain-smoking Marlboro Reds under the heading of "vacation", and/or B) make sweet drunken lovin-up with on a recliner.
We passed on the food. We went up to the second floor to check out those dressing rooms. Better (and that's sayin' it was still shitty), and behind one door we heard what sounded like a chainsaw. Maybe it was the heightened ick we felt, or maybe it's where Dwayne, the monkey-faced mass-murderer lived. After a shockingly long load in (lift-gate on truck, roll to first ramp up, and long steep ramp down to stage for all 26 tons of our stuff) we went back to the hotel to sleep before our THREE-SHOW DAY AND LOAD OUT MAKES ME CRY LIKE BABY JESUS.
The hotel was full, full, full for the car show all weekend, which was located conveniently right next door to the hotel. The hotel lost water for an entire day. This posed a problem for lots of reasons, but most incredulous was the preparation of my frozen orange chicken from (say it with a smile, now, yet again, and with a joyous Southern Baptist urgency) Wal-Mart. The directions required me to melt/heat up the sauce packet in water before mixing with the chicken. I tried everything I could think of to obtain water, short of walking the five blocks to some place that sold bottled water. Then it hit me, it might be strange, and slightly pathetic, but what else could I do? Well, the only thing that made sense:
1) Go to ice machine while chicken is microwaving. Fill bucket half full of ice. Return to room.
2) Rotate chicken. Throw four plastic cups of ice into the carafe of the coffee maker and turn it on so that the hot plate melts the ice.
3) Let chicken cool.
Empty carafe as needed to accommodate sauce packet, place sauce packet in carafe. Leave for 3 minutes.
4) Take out sauce packet, open, drizzle on chicken, enjoy.
The crew was as nice as they knew how to be, but were not the best help to us; too many with not enough of, oh, everything that would have helped us. The shows came and went. We were heading to Skokie the next day, and all would be sentient and well with the Joshua.
The next venue we went to was in Whitewater, WI, a sleepy little town with a great college performing arts center, although, it did sport the "Watosha Hair Hut", and "Sassy Shirts". The student help we received was beyond superb; restored my faith that college is not synonymous with clueless. The hotel, though, was a trip. Called "The Baymont", I walked into my room, or shall I say basement apartment from the late 80's. Oh snap, I be ridin' dirty up in dis bitch, y'all! Fo' rill, fo' rill! It was like high school age Wilt Chamberlain lite. The spacious brown carpeted, hot-tubbed, clap-on-clap-offed, track/recessed lighting-lit, dark-wood wall-paneled suite not only had a full mirrored wall adjacent to the bed, but it had dimmers, it's own private back entrance, and VO5 hair-care products. I shit you not! I think I laughed for fifteen minutes straight. This truly was a place to put some stank on the ol' hang down, ya know? I was futzing with the alarm clock, and on popped everyone's favorite 80's hit, "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" by the irrepressible Jermaine Stewart….I think the Baymont really is a Wisconsin nooky factory. The hot tub, though truly a joy in theory, did make me wonder about contracting something like Clamydiherpesyphilitis. I mean, as thrilling as it was to be in a den of love-stained love, I was curious about housekeeping's ethics. Big-ballin', nonetheless, was our Joshua.
We traveled to Minneapolis for a day off, stayed right downtown. The rest of the hotel was gorgeous, but my floor – where bad painting prints go to die, and renovation has not reached yet – was like the "Minnesotan Country Living, But I Mean Like Way Out in the Country Catalog". Blue and mauve was the name, bold floral was the game. Points of interest along the way to Duluth included the "Booze 'N' Go", and the "Waiting for A Star to Fall Puppy Emporium" (read: barn and house combo.) Seriously? A puppy supermarket in barn named after a Boy Meets Girl hit….?
Next up is Detroit Lakes, MN, then Brookfield, WI, and then our long Easter Break in Cedar Falls, IA. We have two shows and a drive tomorrow, a 5:30a.m. load in and two show day on Thursday. Wish me good touring karma. Have yo'self a happy b'day!
Ciao, y'all,
Joshua
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